


Finally Got It All Right

by Linsky



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: 2019-2020 NHL Season, Getting Together, M/M, mention of real-life girlfriends
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-11
Updated: 2020-09-11
Packaged: 2021-03-06 16:34:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,209
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26411980
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Linsky/pseuds/Linsky
Summary: “I know about this stuff,” Jonny says. “I mean, when you and I broke up—”Patrick chokes on his beer. “I’m sorry, when wewhat?”
Relationships: Patrick Kane/Jonathan Toews
Comments: 83
Kudos: 727
Collections: 1988: Locked In





	Finally Got It All Right

_Well,_ Patrick thinks as he leaves Amanda’s apartment for possibly the last time, _that’s that._

He didn’t come over here today thinking he was going to break up with her. But he also feels…weirdly okay with it. Like it was always going to happen, and maybe it didn’t have to be today, but hey, why _not_ today?

That’s probably not a healthy way to feel about the end of an seven-year relationship. Patrick might have problems.

He’s not sure really what to do with himself now. He’s not exactly upset; he just feels…weird? Like maybe he doesn’t want to just go back to his condo and be alone right now. He fires off a text to his sisters, letting them know what happened, but they’re all in the middle of stuff, probably won’t even see his text for a few hours. Sharpy’s out of town with stupid NBC, so Patrick turns west and heads over to Jonny’s.

Jonny’s still living in the ridiculous hotel suite he got since he refuses to live in a condo like a normal person. Patrick knocks on the door and makes a face so that Jonny will be annoyed when he looks through the peephole. Sure enough, Jonny’s rolling his eyes when he opens the door.

“I have a phone, moron,” he says while he lets Patrick in, which Patrick interprets as implying that Patrick should text him before coming over.

Whatever. Like Patrick hasn’t seen him in every possible state a person can be in over the past twelve and a half years. “I broke up with Amanda,” he says while he follows Jonny into the living room.

Jonny stops walking in the middle of the room. “ _WHAT,_ ” he says.

Patrick goes around Jonny to sit on the couch because he is a normal person who can keep moving even when having important discussions. “Like I said. I broke up with—”

“I heard you.” Jonny’s eyes are all buggy. “What does this _mean_?”

“Well, pretty much that she and I won’t—”

“I got that,” Jonny says. “Are you retiring?”

Patrick jerks upright on the couch. “What? Of course not!”

“Because you shouldn’t,” Jonny says, sitting on the other end of the couch and staring at Patrick like the force of his eyes alone can keep Patrick in the league. “The way your points are trending—”

“I have fifty-seven points in forty-six games this year, pretty sure I’m not about to retire,” Patrick says.

“Well then, sorry if I’m a little confused about why—” Jonny looks around, as if maybe there are spies hidden in the baseboards, and lowers his voice. “Why you broke up with your beard.”

Patrick tries to inhale and talk at the same time. He ends up in a coughing fit. “I’m sorry—my what?” he says when he can get words out again.

Jonny holds out a glass of water. “Here.”

Patrick’s going to have to stop making fun of how Jonny reacts to things when Jonny’s words literally broke his throat. But also, that was Jonny’s fault, so.

He takes a long drink of the water. Takes a moment to swallow. “What the fuck would make you think Amanda was my beard?”

Jonny gives him a long look. Patrick’s face gets hot.

Okay, so maybe he and Jonny used to hook up once in a while. Or maybe more often than that. It was a long time ago, though—Patrick hardly even thinks about it anymore. “Excuse you, doesn’t mean my relationship with Amanda was fake,” he says, ignoring the way his face is probably bright red now.

“This is a bad move,” Jonny says, still speaking all low and intense like he and Patrick are involved in a conspiracy to defraud the world. “The press knows you two, they’re going to ask questions.”

“Which I will answer, because I’m pretty sure I’m allowed to break up with my girlfriend if I want,” Patrick says. “Or I’ll tell them to fuck off, whatever. It’s my personal life.”

“Yeah, but it’s way more believable if you have a long-term thing going,” Jonny says. “You should ask her if she’ll still pretend for the press. Like, maybe once or twice a year—”

“What are you even _talking_ about?” Patrick demands.

Jonny gives him a pitying look. Like Jonny’s so much better at this, when he’s basically babbling nonsense right now. “You’re telling me your relationship with Amanda was real?”

“ _Yes_ ,” Patrick says.

Jonny opens his mouth to say something. Then he falters, like he’s considering something new.

“Yes, I am telling you my relationship with Amanda was real,” Patrick says. Slowly, because Jonny seems to be having trouble absorbing this information, for some reason. “I am telling you that when I say I broke up with my girlfriend, I _broke up with my girlfriend,_ I didn’t end some kind of international conspiracy. I am telling you that we were together, and dating, and kind of in love, only not enough, and that’s why I ended it, and for some reason I thought you would be a good person to talk to about this.”

Jonny’s kind of blinking at him. “Sorry,” he said. “I thought—”

“Yeah, apparently.” This is the day for weird and unexpected conversations, apparently. Patrick kind of wants to dig into what the fuck just happened here, but also—no. That sounds like a really bad idea. “So, if we’re done with that, do you want to watch shitty TV or something? Or—”

“Actually,” Jonny says. He’s looking away now. “Sorry. It’s just—I kind of have a thing going on. Would you mind if—”

Patrick can take a hint. Two minutes later, he’s outside Jonny’s suite again, with no real idea what just happened in there.

***

Fortunately, Patrick has enough other stuff to think about, like the end of his seven-year relationship. His sisters text him back pretty soon, and they do the thing where they want a play-by-play of the whole conversation, and then an analysis of Patrick’s feelings, and then a replay of every significant moment he and Amanda had in the course of their whole relationship, and by the time it’s over Patrick is exhausted and glad he has to go to bed early for practice in the morning.

At practice Jonny keeps looking at him weird. Patrick wishes he wouldn’t. He hasn’t told anyone else on the team yet about the breakup—what a surprising choice, when the first time he tried it went so well. But that’s not gonna last if Jonny keeps giving him patented Looks of Intensity from across the room.

“Hey super-secret spy guy,” Patrick says when Jonny comes over to him after practice. “You’re scaring the children.”

Jonny ignores him. He has that one-track look on his face like when he’s figuring out a play. “You’re telling me,” he says, “that you and Amanda were actually together.”

“Oh my God,” Patrick says.

“No, like.” Jonny takes a step closer. He’s shirtless, and still dripping from the shower, and—okay, what happened to personal space? “Together-together. Like, when you kissed her, you felt like—”

“Ooookay.” Patrick puts a hand in the middle of Jonny’s chest. Which, he will admit, is a good chest; it’s not like he’s lost the ability to appreciate how Jonny looks. But also: what? “If you’re all about keeping things under wraps, you might want to step back here, buddy.”

Jonny steps back. A little bit. Patrick lets his hand drop.

“Are we done here?” Patrick asks. “Because I should—”

“No,” Jonny says. He bites his lip. “I feel like—I didn’t do a good job yesterday. When you came to talk to me.”

“Gee,” Patrick says. “What could ever give you an idea like that?”

Jonny gives him an impatient look. Patrick cracks a grin.

“Yeah, probably.”

“Let me try again,” Jonny says. “Come over tonight. We can hang out.”

Somehow he manages to make “hang out” sound like an alien phrase he’s never said before, even though Patrick has personally experienced Jonny’s ability to hang out at least a thousand times over the last twelve years. “Wow, are we going to talk about our feelings? Bake cookies? My hair is kind of short for braiding, but—”

Jonny glares at him. “Just come over, asshole.”

Sometimes Jonny is just too easy to needle. Patrick feels like maybe he should be tired of it after twelve and a half years, but it never really gets old. “Whatever you say.”

***

Patrick brings beer over to Jonny’s that night. It’s the middle of the season, but the way Jonny was getting tight around the eyes in the locker room, he’s pretty sure they’ll need it, and there’s no way Jonny’s going to provide it.

When he gets to Jonny’s, though, Jonny already has two beers for them on the coffee table, next to a few boxes of sushi.

“Wow.” Patrick raises his eyebrows. “The night before a game?”

“You just got out of a relationship,” Jonny says. “It’s traditional.”

“Did you look up a list?” Patrick plops down on the couch. “You totally looked up a list, didn’t you?”

Jonny doesn’t answer. Patrick grabs the bottle opener.

“So,” Jonny says, “you wanna talk about it?”

Patrick thinks about it. “Not really,” he says. He’s already dissected it pretty thoroughly with his sisters, and the idea of going another round with Jonny’s skepticism sounds exhausting. “I just want to hang. Is that okay?”

“Yeah, of course,” Jonny says.

He puts on the Habs-Flames game, so that they can study up for their swing through Canada, and they eat the sushi Jonny got for them. It’s way better than talking about Patrick’s failed relationship. They’ve done this kind of thing so many times over the years: crashed in one or the other of their living rooms, put on a hockey game, shouted at the screen and then at each other. At this point, it’s downright soothing.

The Habs outshoot the Flames in the first 17-7 and pull away on a goal from Jordan Weal. “Pretty sick saves from Rittich, glad we’re not facing him,” Patrick says.

Jonny makes a disapproving noise. He hates relying on a goalie to be bad when they should be relying on themselves to be good. It’s one of the factors that affect a game, though, and Patrick’s pretty sure you don’t get anywhere by ignoring pieces of the puzzle. Five years ago they would have had the argument, but at this point they can express the whole thing in a grunt.

Sharpy’s not commentating this game, sadly, so there’s no one to make fun of during the first intermission. Jonny waits until the talking heads transition to a commercial and says, “So, did she move out already?”

Patrick shrugs. “She didn’t really live with me. She still had her own place. But no, there’s a ton of her shit at my place still. She’s gonna come get it while we’re gone.”

“Is it that bad? Like, you’re avoiding each other?”

“I mean,” Patrick says. “I don’t think she hates me or anything. But she isn’t super excited about seeing me, either.”

“That must be weird.”

“It is, yeah.” Patrick still doesn’t regret the breakup. But she’s been so much a part of his life. It’s weird to think that none of his days going forward will have her in them. He raises his beer to Jonny. “But hey, that’s what friends are for, right?”

Jonny doesn’t toast him back. He’s barely touched his beer, even though it’s the gluten-free kind he can actually drink. He’s giving Patrick this considering look, like he’s trying to figure out if Patrick’s about to fall apart in front of him or something.

“Okay, weirdo,” Patrick says, and clinks his beer against Jonny’s knee instead.

“Oh, sorry,” Jonny says, coming to life, “should we—”

“Nope, too late, missed your chance,” Patrick says, taking a swallow.

“I meant it,” Jonny says. “About you talking about it if you want to.”

“What? Yeah, I mean, I assumed you did.”

“Just,” Jonny goes on, “I don’t want you to think it would be weird or anything.”

“Just because you thought she was my beard?”

“I didn’t really think she was your beard,” Jonny says.

“You totally did.” Patrick’s beer is empty. He could have a second one, but—well, what the hell, you don’t get out of seven-year relationships every week.

Jonny huffs. “Whatever. The point is, it’s important to talk about this shit. Like, process it.”

Patrick grins as he cracks a second beer open. “Did you get this off a hippie blog? Are you quoting Tumblr at me right now?

“I know about this stuff,” Jonny says. He has his jaw set in that determined way it gets sometimes. “I mean, when you and I broke up—”

Patrick chokes on his beer.

He spends a solid minute coughing while Jonny looks impatient. “I’m sorry,” Patrick manages to croak when he can breathe again, “when we _what_?”

Jonny hands him a napkin. “You’re getting beer on the couch.”

Patrick dabs absently at himself and the couch cushion. He must have heard wrong. Maybe it was a bad idea to have the second beer. “You were saying, uh…?”

“Just, when we broke up, it was really really important for me to talk about it.” Jonny’s eyes are fixed on the TV, but Patrick doesn’t think he’s listening to the talking heads. “If I hadn’t had Seabs—”

“ _Seabs_ thinks we were together?”

Jonny glances at him, then away again. “Sorry. I know you probably didn’t want anyone to know. I just, I needed to talk to someone.”

Yeah, Patrick probably wouldn’t have wanted people to know, but that’s not what he’s caught up on right now. He stares at Jonny.

“Slapshot,” Jonny says after a minute.

“What? Oh.” The game. Patrick looks back at the screen to see the Habs celebrating their second goal. He didn’t even know play had started again.

“Anyway, I’m just saying, if you want to talk,” Jonny says.

“Right,” Patrick says. He’s not sure he’ll ever be able to talk again. To anyone, about anything.

He doesn’t take in much hockey for the rest of the period. “So, uh,” he says when the second intermission starts. He tries to sound casual about it. “How long we were together, exactly?”

Jonny gives him a weird look. “What, you want to compare with Amanda?”

“No, just.” Shit, that’s a weird thought. “It was kind of ambiguous, you know?”

Jonny shrugs. “I mean, I guess. Yeah, you could count it a couple ways. But I guess I’d say—four years, maybe?”

Four years. Jesus. That’s more than half the time Patrick was with Amanda. When is Jonny starting the count? They hooked up a bunch rookie year, but it wasn’t until their second year that they went home together regularly when they weren’t on the road. Does that mean that every time they got into one of their cars together, Jonny was thinking…

“Why did we break up?” Patrick asks.

Jonny’s definitely looking at him strangely. “What do you mean, why did we break up?”

Patrick’s pretty sure it would be a dick move to say how much he doesn’t know. “It’s just, you know, it’s such a blur. That whole time.” It’s even true: the lockout, and Switzerland, and that crazy half-season with their point streak and the Cup at the end of it. Patrick remembers it all as a bright haze of adrenaline.

“You ended it,” Jonny says. “When you got back from Switzerland. Remember?”

Patrick remembers coming back from Switzerland. He doesn’t remember _breaking up_ with his _boyfriend,_ which—he can’t believe he even thought that word. No, he remembers coming back, the relief of having half a season still to play, the sight of Jonny’s beaming face when Patrick threw his arms around him. Learning the terms of the new CBA, and realizing he wouldn’t be sharing a room with Jonny anymore. Being disappointed, and being annoyed with himself for it—obviously everyone in the League wanted their own rooms, given the choice. But he remembers realizing what it meant for Jonny and him, that they wouldn’t have that time on the road together anymore, and saying—

Oh. “Yeah,” he says slowly. “Of course I remember.”

It was just a throwaway comment. Patrick didn’t think much of it at the time. It was a few days after he’d gotten back into the country, and they were in their first hotel under the new CBA. Jonny said, _So, two rooms now,_ and Patrick said—he can’t remember the words; it was something like— _Yeah, guess we won’t be doing you-know-what anymore…_

“It was okay,” Jonny says. He’s looking at the TV, even though it’s a car commercial. “I got it. It was dangerous.”

That must have been when Jonny stopped coming home with him in Chicago, too. Patrick didn’t put it together at the time: they were just so _busy._ And then Patrick had met Amanda later that spring, and that summer Lindsay had shown up, tall and blond and perfect.

Patrick remembers being a little jealous. Lindsay was just _so_ perfect. But then, it was probably normal to be a little jealous of the person dating your best friend, right?

That was the summer he’d started worrying that that term didn’t apply to Jonny anymore. It was so crazy, all those games closer together than usual, everyone riding the high of victory, and the whole team hanging out more than usual meant less one-on-one time. And then, after the season ended—well, he and Jonny were both busy with family and friends. Girlfriends. It was tough to fit everything into a short off-season.

There was one night, a few days after the win. They were at Rockit, the whole team again, but this time Jonny kept close to him throughout the celebrating. Patrick remembers it because of the buzzy feeling that filled him that whole night. It was the champagne, the high of the win, but it was also Jonny, standing close and giving him these looks that shimmered straight through to his gut. Jonny had this shirt on—Patrick doesn’t usually remember other people’s clothing, but he can still picture this one: how it pulled tight around his biceps, the outline of his pecs, the hard points of his nipples. They were dancing near each other, and the crowd would press them close and Jonny’s chest would bump against Patrick shoulder and his stomach would lurch with heat.

Lindsay was there, too, though. And Amanda. Patrick took her home and fucked her—he remembers because of how hot it was, how he was dying for it, how it felt like his whole body was on fire before he even touched her. They went three times that night before they finally passed out. It’s something Patrick still pulls out from his greatest hits reel.

He bites his lip, remembering. And then he feels Jonny’s eyes on him, and he makes the mistake of looking over and meeting Jonny’s gaze.

Oh. Yeah. That’s how his stomach used to lurch.

It’s not, like—Jonny’s still with Lindsay. That’s not what this is about. It’s just so weird to think about, after all this time. That maybe Jonny had a totally different idea of what was happening back then.

“Sorry,” Patrick says after what’s probably a weird amount of lag. “I wasn’t—I didn’t know what I was doing back then.”

Jonny makes a noncommittal half-shrug. “I didn’t think we were actually ever going to talk about it.”

Is that what they’re doing? Patrick doesn’t feel equipped for this conversation. “I was just, you know, an idiot.”

“Well, yeah.” Jonny rolls his eyes. “We both were. We were practically kids. I’m not trying to make you feel bad about it or anything.”

“I know.” Patrick does, though. It’s seven years too late, but he does. He could have at least—if he’d known. If he’d guessed how Jonny felt about it. He could have ended it better.

Fuck, Jonny must have hated him for it at the time. And the year after that, when they didn’t hang out as much—was that why? Did Jonny think of him as an _ex_?

That’s too weird to think about. Patrick focuses on the game.

The Habs win it, 2-0, mostly because Rittich is a goddamn hero who keeps it from turning into a rout. “Ugh, we have to face that in two days,” Patrick says.

“We’ll take ’em,” Jonny says, totally confident. Patrick cracks a smile. He loves that Jonny’s still like that: convinced that he can will what he wants into happening, even though hockey has the highest degree of randomness of any sport out there. Jonny still believes they’ll win it each and every time. And then when they don’t, when Jonny’s will doesn’t carry the day—

Patrick has another flash of memory, maybe because he’s been living so much in the past tonight. He remembers lying in a bed in their shared hotel room after a loss, his arms around Jonny. Jonny was gripping back fiercely, full of despair at the world’s betrayal. Patrick was kissing his neck, trying to get him to relax, to pull him out of himself, and finally Jonny turned and met his mouth and…

It’s surprisingly vivid, the memory, even though Patrick doesn’t know if it was one time or a blend of many. The sensory impression of Jonny pressed against him, his own desire to change Jonny’s world for the better. His ability to. He shivers a little, trying to shake it off.

Jonny’s watching him. Maybe wondering if Patrick wants to open up, do the talking Jonny keeps saying he should. But all Jonny says is, “You hanging around?”

“Nah,” Patrick says. “Should get my shit together for the flight tomorrow.” And his head together, if he can. Wow, this has been a weird night. He stands up and stretches. “Thanks, man.”

“Anytime.” Jonny follows him to the door and hovers while Patrick puts on his sneakers.

That’s one of the weird things about Jonny. He’s a total slob, but he won’t let you wear shoes into his home, even when his home is a hotel. Patrick remembers how much that used to drive him crazy, back when they were together all the time. All the contradictions in Jonny: a go-getter, but terrible at getting out of bed in the morning; wanting his own space, but always trying to get up in Patrick’s.

He hasn’t tried to get into Patrick’s space in years. Not like he used to. Patrick hasn’t been thinking much about it, has let it become normal, but now, once his shoes are on, he straightens up and meets Jonny’s eyes and for a moment he thinks—

But no, Jonny just reaches past him to unlock the door. Then he leans back again, out of Patrick’s space.

“Goodnight,” Jonny says, and Patrick flees for the streets.

***

Patrick broke up with his long-term girlfriend less than two days ago. That should be the biggest thing on his mind. But maybe that’s why he’s thinking about Jonny instead: it’s easier, less fresh.

Jonny thought they were dating. Jonny thought they were _dating_ , and Patrick didn’t know. How much of an idiot was he?

He calls Erica the next morning while he packs for the plane. “Friends with benefits is a thing, right?” he asks.

“Oh my God, you’ve been single for two days,” she says.

“No, come on, I’m not, you know.” He chews on his lip. “Just, that’s a thing that happens, right? You can be hooking up with someone and not be in a relationship.”

“Do _not_ tell me you want to hook up with Amanda right now,” she says.

“What? No!”

“Good, because I swear, I will come to Chicago and claw you off her personally,” she says. “You’re my brother and all, but that girl is good people. She doesn’t deserve that.”

“Hey,” he says, vaguely offended even though he can see her point. “I’m not trying to hook up with her. I’m just, like. Sex doesn’t equal a relationship, right? Like, you could be hooking up with someone for a long time, but that’s not the same as dating.”

“I guess,” she says grudgingly. “It doesn’t usually work, though.”

“Why not?”

“I mean, sex messes you up, right?” she says. “You get feelings and stuff. I don’t know, maybe if you hook up like once a month or something, but it would be really hard to sleep with someone a lot and still feel like you’re just friends. Hard for most people, anyway.”

He and Jonny were having sex more than once a month. It wasn’t exactly every day, but it was pretty close. It was pretty fucking amazing sex, too—not at first, when they were fumbling and so horny they could barely get their hands on each other’s cocks before they were shooting off. But later, when they’d learned each other’s bodies. When they’d sink into each other, make each other tremble and catch fire, Jonny’s cock hard inside him or the other way around. Patrick remembers breathing in and feeling like the air was bringing Jonny into his body, like they were perfectly overlapping in time and space and nothing had ever been so perfect.

Okay. So—so maybe his sister has a point.

“Why do you ask?” Erica asks.

“I don’t know,” he says. “Just, you know, thinking back on past relationships.”

“Oh man,” she says. “Just promise me you’ll call one of us before you drunk-dial an ex.”

“Yes, _mom,_ ” he says. It’s an easy promise to make, anyway. He doesn’t need to drunk-dial Jonny; Jonny is always right there, right next to him.

Just like he has been, for the last twelve years. Why does that knowledge feel so different than it did twenty-four hours ago?

***

Because twenty-four hours ago, he didn’t think he and Jonny had _dated,_ that’s why.

It shouldn’t make that much of a difference. It’s been seven years, and their friendship is solid now. No need to mess up a good thing.

The knowledge feels like a constant flag in his head, though, a pop-up alert he can’t close. He feels like he’s waiting for something, but he doesn’t know for what.

The team flies to Toronto later that morning. Patrick sits next to Jonny on the plane. He probably wouldn’t, not when he’s feeling so weird about things between them, but Jonny looks up while he’s coming down the aisle and there’s an invitation in his eyes and Patrick slides into the seat before he can think better of it.

This is another thing they used to do when they were hooking up. They sit together a lot, but back then, it was every flight: Jonny would load whatever they’d been watching most recently onto his phone or his iPad, and Patrick would lean against his shoulder, close but not so close it would look weird to the rest of the team. Sometimes if they had a blanket or a sweatshirt or something Jonny would sneak his hand under it and lace his fingers with Patrick’s.

Patrick hasn’t thought about that one in years. It’s like he stuck a shovel in the earth, and everything is coming up for him now.

He and Jonny don’t hold hands anymore. Obviously. They don’t even really do the iPad sharing thing on a regular basis. Today Jonny’s reading a book on his Kindle, something about recycling or trees or something, and Patrick’s chilling to music in the hope of zoning out and falling asleep.

He’s kind of getting there, eyes getting heavy, when Jonny’s arm shifts to rest against his on the arm rest. It sends a little prickle of awareness to Patrick’s brain. A week ago he wouldn’t even have noticed it. Now he’s thinking: did Jonny mean to do it? Does he realize he’s touching Patrick? Should Patrick do something, pull away, push into it?

He doesn’t do anything. Just breathes deeply until he gets himself back to the point of sleep, that little hum of Jonny threading through his drowsing thoughts, and wakes up with that same lingering feeling of waiting for something.

The game against Ottawa is a shitshow at the start start. They go down 0-2 in the first period. Kubi is a hero, though, and scores in the second, extending his goal streak to five games, and he scores again in the third to bring them to overtime.

Where Patrick passes to Jonny, a sweet stick-to-stick shot, and Jonny takes the puck over half the rink all by himself before shooting it straight into the goal.

It’s beautiful to see. Patrick loves three-on-three overtime under all circumstances: loves the exposure of it, the opportunity, and he loves what it brings out in Jonny. Loves it when it’s the two of them, passing back and forth, in sync, making the other team scrabble. But this is different: this is Jonny skating circles around everyone all by himself, going on a fifteen-second solo tear where he slips by a lunging Connor Murphy and strips the stick from Hogberg and circles around to shoot it in the goal under everyone’s guard. It hits Patrick so hard he can barely breathe.

He’s still busy being stunned by it when Jonny skates toward the bench to celebrate. It takes him a minute to catch up, and then he slaps Jonny’s back, meets Jonny’s grin with one of his own. Feels a surge of something when he grips Jonny’s arm, like there’s something more he should be doing.

They go back to the hotel. He and Jonny have adjoining rooms again, and Jonny opens the doors when they first get there so they can continue their conversation about the game from the hallway. Then Patrick gets absorbed in his texts and kind of forgets it’s open. Jonny is showering now, anyway—he’s a weirdo and likes to just rinse off at the rink and shower properly back in his own space. Patrick tunes out the sound of the shower, and then he hears the door of the bathroom opening and looks up just in time to see Jonny pass in front of the connecting doorway, not even a towel on, water glistening on his completely naked body.

Patrick feels like a spear of heat has been shoved through his stomach. It’s almost painful, wanting so much so suddenly. He feels like he did back in those early years when it was a struggle to keep his hands off Jonny in the elevator, a struggle to wait until their door was locked before pressing Jonny up against the wall and kissing the life out of him. Jonny’s body has changed throughout the years, bulked out a little, developed a few muscles it didn’t have before—but Patrick can still imagine the curve of that ass under his hands. Can still feel the texture of Jonny’s nipple under his tongue as he chased a water droplet over the peak. Can still hear Jonny’s choked gasps as his mouth moved lower.

Patrick’s sitting on the bed in his hotel room, panting like he just got boarded. He feels like he did just get boarded. This feeling—he didn’t know it was in him. Didn’t know he was capable of wanting Jonny like this.

So this is what he was waiting for, apparently.

He’s going to keep waiting, then. He broke up with Amanda less than a week ago. This could still just be a weird breakup reaction—and even if it’s not, it would be a bad idea to do anything about it. He and Jonny aren’t stupid rookies anymore. Patrick’s not going to jeopardize his place on the team just to get his hands on that ass again. And he’s not going to jeopardize a friendship that somehow survived his idiocy the first time around.

That’s what he tells himself, and he knows it’s smart. It feels like Jonny’s a magnet, though, and something in Patrick’s alignment has changed over the last few days so that he can’t help but be pulled in. They have another game that night in Montreal, and Patrick feels it while he sits next to Jonny on the plane: a buzzing in his gut. An awareness of Jonny’s body, of his own desire to be closer to it.

It’s been over seven years since they last held hands on a plane. Why does it feel weird now that they’re not? 

For most of the flight they sit and pay attention to their own devices. Then, when they’re high above the wilds of Canada and most of the plane is napping, Patrick nudges Jonny and says in a low voice, “Hey, so, Lindsay.”

Jonny looks up from his Kindle. “What about her?”

Patrick’s half-regretting this already. This isn’t not messing up their friendship. “She’s—you know. She’s the thing you were saying about Amanda, right?”

Jonny doesn’t answer right away. “It feels weird to have to tell you that,” he says finally.

“What do you mean?”

Jonny shrugs, a little rueful. “Just, I always assumed you knew.”

Patrick’s quiet for a minute, the plane rumbling around him. He gets that, but also: “I don’t know why you thought that, though.” Should he be saying this out loud? “Just because I’m into—you know.” He leans closer to Jonny so that he can drop his voice. “Just because I’m, you know, into guys doesn’t mean I can’t be into girls too.”

He feels dizzy before he’s even stopped speaking. Like his body got it before his mind did: that he was saying it out loud, making it real. Patrick Kane, attracted to both guys and girls.

“I know,” Jonny says. He doesn’t seem weirded out by it. Why would he be? He thought they were _dating_. “I mean, I should have known. I don’t know. I guess it just didn’t occur to me.” He shrugs one shoulder.

It’s so weird, realizing that Jonny’s spent the last decade with a totally wrong understanding of Patrick. That Patrick’s spent the same amount of time with a totally wrong understanding of _him._ A week ago Patrick would have said Jonny was the person he knew best in the world. The person who knew him best in the world. Girlfriends excepted—or, actually, maybe not. It’s not like he ever told Amanda about Jonny.

He wants Jonny to be the person who knows him best in the world. He wants to fill in the holes in their knowledge. “So, you’re not, then,” he says. “Into women.”

They’re still leaning close, close enough to whisper without the rest of the plane hearing them. When Jonny meets Patrick’s eyes, it feels like a lot in a way Patrick isn’t prepared for. “Just not as lucky as you are, I guess,” Jonny says.

Patrick gets what he means. In their field, being into women is lucky. Being able to date someone, have it be public, have it be real, that’s luck. Patrick’s had that for the past seven years. He thought Jonny had that, too.

Apparently not. Patrick’s only starting to get a glimpse of what the past seven years were like for Jonny, but he’s starting to realize they might not have been all that good.

He wants to ask more questions. He wants to know so many things about what it’s been like for Jonny. But it’s already so much, what they’ve said here. Already more than enough on a plane surrounded by their teammates.

He doesn’t mind waiting. Whatever this is, whatever is humming between them, he’s confident that they haven’t finished with it yet.

***

Patrick feels that knowledge in his body the whole time they’re playing that night. A good game: Smitty scores twice against the Habs in the first period, and Patrick and Jonny combine to assist on the Cat’s power-play goal the second to put them up 3-1. They top it off in the third with a sweet goal from Cags, and now the team’s riding a three-game winning streak. Not something to take lightly, in the season they’ve been having.

The Jonny thing doesn’t distract Patrick from playing. It’s just an extra edge of adrenaline in his body the whole evening. A little jump in his gut that’s unrelated to playing and that doesn’t go away with the exertion of a hard shift. It’s easy to trace to its source: to his awareness of Jonny one the bench with him, on the ice, on the other end of his pass. Across the locker room, sweaty, helmet marks across his forehead, giving earnest sound bites to the press. The helmet marks look so dumb, and Patrick remembers touching them, and he wants to do it again.

He’s pretty sure Jonny feels it, too. It’s in the air between them when they fall into step together on the way to the team bus and sit down together without talking about it, in sync in a way Patrick doesn’t remember happening since the days when they were hooking up on the regular. There’s awareness here, in both directions: Patrick’s paying enough attention to know that Jonny’s paying attention, and the knowledge lights his skin up like electricity.

Their rooms aren’t next to each other this time. “Hey,” Patrick says when they get onto the elevator. Jonny looks at him. “Want to come hang out in mine?”

“Yeah,” Jonny says right away, just as easy, and Patrick feels like he’s buoyed up by a river: fast and light, easy, rushing on toward a destination he can’t see yet but knows is there.

The two of them sprawl across Patrick’s bed, checking email and watching highlights on their iPads. It’s quiet in a way that’s totally different from being alone. It’s also different from how it would have been a couple of weeks ago. There’s a new kind of tension here, in the length of Jonny’s legs and the shift of his shoulder near Patrick’s—but it’s good tension. Patrick’s content to lie in it for a while.

Then Jonny looks over, meets his eyes, smiles, and Patrick’s suddenly not content to lie in it anymore. He sucks in a breath, heart beating hard.

Jonny must catch the mood, because his eyes get darker. “Peeks,” he says, and Patrick is on a table that’s tilting—can’t keep his balance. Can’t figure out which way to fall.

Jonny puts his hand out. He touches his fingertips to Patrick’s cheek, and the touch blazes its way through Patrick’s body to the pit of his stomach. He parts his lips, and Jonny’s eyes drop to them, and Patrick knows that they’re going to kiss. They’re going to kiss, and it’s going to change everything. He can’t breathe.

Jonny leans in. Impossible closeness, rewriting the rules of the last seven years. Jonny leans in, and his lips touch Patrick’s: the smallest of touches, a single beat of a butterfly’s wings. Jonny’s breath in Patrick’s mouth.

Patrick breathes him in. He moves his lips against Jonny’s, a catch and a cling. A perfect moment of soft heat.

Did it feel like this seven years ago? Was it possible that it felt like this, and Patrick walked away from it?

Jonny’s eyes are bright when they pull back. Patrick’s hit with a memory so strong he stops breathing for a minute. Jonny’s looked at him like this before. It’s been so long he almost forgot. But this is how Jonny used to look at him. Patrick’s such an idiot.

“I didn’t know,” he says. He’s having trouble catching his breath again. “Jonny, I didn’t know.”

Jonny’s fingers are still on Patrick’s cheek, gentle. “What didn’t you know?” he asks.

“Back when we were. I didn’t know. I thought we were just—hooking up.”

It takes a moment for that to hit Jonny. Patrick sees when it does: Jonny’s gaze falters, eyes darting down and away. It makes Patrick want to cry out and take it back. But he can’t, not if he wants them to have a chance. If he's already ruined it—well. He'll just have to find that out.

“I guess we were,” Jonny says, still looking away. “I mean, what’s really the difference between—”

“No.” Patrick shakes his head quickly. Whatever Erica was trying to tell him, whatever the technical definitions are—this is the difference. The way Jonny was looking at him just now. He’s not going to let Jonny make this less than it was.

He finds Jonny’s hand and clenches it in his own. “No,” he says again. “We were as real as—as me and Amanda. As anything. I was just stupid.”

Jonny’s eyes find his again. They take Patrick’s breath away for a different reason. “The whole time?” he asks.

Patrick doesn’t want to say yes. But he nods.

Jonny’s quiet for a long moment. “I guess…that explains a lot,” he says finally.

“I wouldn’t have, if I’d known—” Patrick says, then: “No, that’s dumb. I should have known. Sorry. I don’t have any excuse.”

“But you wanted to be with Amanda instead,” Jonny says. “That’s allowed.”

“No. I.” Patrick tries to think about how to summarize it: the blurry confusion of that year, the pain he didn’t realize he was feeling amid the turmoil of victory. How things still felt off, even after they started hanging out again, like a bone that had been set wrong. Patrick didn’t understand why until this week. Until Jonny's mouth on his.

“I fucked up less with Amanda than I did with you,” he says finally. “But I still fucked up a bunch. I was just so fucking lost all the time back then. And by the time I figured out how to handle shit better, it was too late to fix things with her. I never really gave her everything. But I think…I think maybe I can do that now. And I think I want to try. With you.”

There’s cautious hope on Jonny’s face. “You think?” he says.

“I know,” Patrick says. “No doubts, man.”

Jonny huffs in surprise. Patrick leans in and kisses him again: soft and sweet and breathtaking. It can’t have been this good before. He could never have walked away from this.

“Let me make up for fucking it up so badly last time?” Patrick says. “This time I—well. I’ll at least _try_ not to be so stupid.”

Jonny laughs. “No chance of that,” he says, and takes Patrick’s mouth in a real kiss, open-mouthed, wet, his tongue pressing in and making Patrick gasp at the sudden heat.

It doesn’t feel like seven years ago. Patrick isn’t blind and confused like he was then, desperate for something to take him out of his head, something that won’t complicate things with feelings of its own. He can stand on his own two feet now. He can turn to Jonny, not because he needs to, but because he wants to. He can look into Jonny’s eyes and open himself up to him and say, _You. I choose you._

It’s gonna be so much better.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * A [Restricted Work] by [nat reads (natashastarkk)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/natashastarkk/pseuds/nat%20reads) Log in to view. 




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